The Knight (Highland Guard #7.5)(10)

CHAPTER THREE

Coming on the heels of the single most erotic, most pleasurable, most incredible sexual experience of James’s life, Jo’s words were a cold shock. Hell, they were like a plunge into the icy waters of the Hebridean sea in midwinter—bare-arsed naked. His blood, his breath, everything inside him froze.

She looked up at him, her big blue eyes questioning and anxious. “I thought… I assumed… we would marry,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

He looked at the woman he’d known since they were both children—who’d grown up with him, who knew what the English had done to his father and what they’d taken from him, who had to know how important his career was to him—as if she were a stranger. He was going to be the greatest knight in Scotland, raising the name of Douglas to dizzying heights. The horror and humiliation of his father’s death—being left to die like a dog—would never be forgiven, but he intended to make sure it was forgotten. No one would ever malign their honor and nobility again.

“I thought you understood,” he said in disbelief. How could she not understand? She had to understand. He couldn’t marry her. It was impossible. Marriage between them was so out of the realm of possibility, he’d never even considered it. Well, maybe once when he was a lad and didn’t know any better, but his father had set him straight. James had a duty—a responsibility—to marry for the good of his family. His choice of bride had become even more important after his father’s death and Edward had stolen James’s patrimony. His sword would only take him so far.

The woman he took to wife would be almost as important as the name he was making for himself in war. It would be a woman who would bring him wealth and titles. A woman who would further his ambition and increase the power of the Douglas lordship.

A woman like Margery Bruce.

James had every reason to believe—every reason to hope—that the king intended to propose a match between his youngest sister (the king had seven) and James. He’d hinted around it more than once. At three and ten, Margery was old enough to wed. The bedding would wait for a few years, but the marriage would be the culmination of all that James had fought for over the past five years. The blood connection to Bruce would not only strengthen the bond between the families, but also prove just how high James had risen in the king’s regard.

Randolph wouldn’t be the only kinsman vying for Bruce’s favor.

James’s rivalry with Sir Thomas Randolph, Bruce’s nephew who’d been rising in the king’s estimation since James had captured him from the English and brought him back into the Scottish fold, had intensified of late. They were always trying to best each other on the battlefield or whatever mission the king gave them. The king encouraged it because it helped him in his efforts to retake his kingdom. Aye, Randolph was a thorn in James’s backside. He should have left the blighter with the English.

James couldn’t marry Joanna. He was the Lord of Douglas—dispossessed or nay—and she was his vassal’s daughter, for Christ’s sake! Marriage was a political alliance. A tool. One of the best means he had of advancing his family. It had nothing to do with his personal feelings. Hell, that’s why men had lemans. A wife was a duty; Joanna would be his happiness and his heart. How could she not understand that?

He raked his fingers through his hair, not knowing what to do, what to say. He gazed down at her face, and his chest burned, as if each breath of air he drew into his lungs was heavy with acrid smoke. He didn’t want to hurt her. Christ, hurting her was the last thing he wanted to do. He loved her.

He cupped her cheek in his hand. Her skin felt like ice. Usually, she would nuzzle into his touch, but she stood perfectly frozen, staring up at him as if seeing him for the first time. As if he’d just betrayed her in the worst possible way and destroyed her faith in him.

A chill ran through him. His heart raced. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he was in a panic. “Jesus, Jo, don’t look at me like that. I can’t marry you—even if I wanted to.”

She flinched as if he’d struck her. “Even if you wanted to?”

He swore. “That isn’t what I meant. Of course I want to.” He did, he realized. But personal desires had nothing to do with marriage. “But I am not a peasant, bound only by the dictates of my heart. I have a duty to my family as lord. I must marry to restore the wealth and prestige of Douglas. Surely you can see that?”

“But we made love. I gave you my innocence.”

James cringed inwardly. Her words shattered the wall of glass he’d built around his guilt. What the hell could he say? It was wrong? He’d been helpless to resist? There were no words he could muster in his defense. “You wanted to give yourself to me. I thought you understood what that would mean.”

It took her a moment to figure out what he meant, but when she did, the look of horror in her eyes cut him to the quick. “A leman. God in heaven, you never meant to marry me.” It was a statement, not an accusation, but it still felt like one. She folded her hands over her stomach as if he’d just kicked her. “How could I have been so foolish? I thought…” Her voice choked. “Oh God, I thought you loved me.”

The tears shimmering in her eyes as she looked up at him ate like acid in his chest. He reached for her again, but she jerked away.

“I do love you,” he insisted. “This has nothing to do with how we feel for each other.”